Harry Potter: Dawn of Justice
by Magical Fire Serpent
Summary: The Wizarding World is even stranger than Harry could possibly have imagined. Villains lurk in every shadow, but yet too few heroes are there to protect the innocent. What can one eleven-year-old muggle-raised boy do to the unstoppable forces of evil? Follow Harry Potter as he struggles with the darkness within, and the darkness without.
1. Chapter 1

Harry huddled closer to the wall, his small body shivering from the icy chill across the room. The threadbare blanket his Aunt had tossed at him hours before doing little to protect him. His emerald green eyes peered out from underneath the mop of his messy black hair, gazing wistfully at the mound of blankets covering his cousin on the lounge. It had been this way for as long as he remembered. His cousin, Dudley, getting everything he wished for, and more. Meanwhile, Harry, barely received enough to live on. The boy did not understand the animosity his family had for him, could not fathom why such hatred came into being. All he knew was that he could not bare to live in such a household much longer. Even now his body fought within itself. The growling pains of hunger clashed with the violent shivering.

It had been a long week for Harry, ever since that first letter had arrived bearing his name. Silently, he cursed the unknown letter writer for a millionth time. Sure, his life wasn't perfect, but it was predictable, and in a life such as his, unpredictable events could only mean bad things. His uncle Vernon's bad mood had taken a sharp decline from the first letter. His bushy moustache quivering with rage, and beady blue eyes glaring at Harry with well-known hatred. Each subsequent letter worsening Uncle Vernon's already tenuous grip on sanity, Harry had found himself locked in the cupboard under the stairs, his bedroom, with nothing but an animalistic growl informing him he was to make no noise.

Harry's Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, had taken the letters differently. Where Uncle Vernon's face had purpled with rage, Petunia's had paled to a nasty shade of whiter. For the next few days. Within his cupboard, nothing but darkness to keep him company, Harry heard the paranoid mutterings of his Aunt. Confusing sentences about being watched by Freaks, and there being no place safe. It had become a daily occurrence of her shrill shriek going through the Dursley household each morning as yet more letters arrived.

It was at this point that Harry had stopped caring about the contents of the letters, and instead wished they would stop coming. The pains of hunger, and the constant darkness, quelled his curiosity better than any words of Uncle Vernon's. He was even amazed that the small amounts of food, and water, they had granted him was enough to survive on.

Then, two days ago was when the most unusual thing had happened. His aunt, and Uncle, had fought. Never before had he heard his Aunt Petunia disagree with Uncle Vernon. She had once even stated that it was not the wife's duty to argue with their husband. Yet, on this morning, her voice taut with fear had demanded they leave their house. Uncle Vernon's rage filled shouts of 'not being scared off his own home from a bunch of Freaks' had done little to change her mind.

So here they were, in a rundown shack that barely remained standing upon a crumbling island just within eye distance of the shore. Harry's musings were interrupted as another wave clapped on the rocky banks of the island, and a distant boom of thunder sounded overhead. There was a storm rolling in, the last thing the shack's occupants needed.

Dudley shifted in his sleep, one chubby arm falling out the warm confines of his bedding. The glow from his cousin's electronic wrist watch catching Harry's attention. The time was not too surprising, at 11:30pm it was nearing midnight. No, it was the date that Harry focused on. It seemed tomorrow was to be his birthday. This thought brought forward no feelings at all forward. Unlike other children, his birth date was neither celebrated or acknowledged. The only reason he knew the date at all was the Dursley's knew others would find it abnormal if he didn't know. Somehow, though, Harry knew this birthday would be different. So, it was with a strange sort of anticipation he watched as the time ticked closer to midnight. His only company being the soft breathing of Dudley, and the ever-nearing storm.

It was with a disappointed sight that Harry's birthday arrived. Nothing seemed to had changed, nor did the now eleven-year-old feel any different. Curling further into a ball, Harry allowed himself to fall asleep to roaring storm. His body past the point of exhaustion due to the neglect it had received over the past week.

A nudge to his leg brought Harry to wakefulness. Dudley loomed over him; his piggy blue eyes filled with undisguised curiosity.

"Mum says to wake up!" The boy said before wandering off.

Quickly, Harry jumped to his feet, the blanket sliding to the floor. He knew any delays would result in punishment. After folding the blanket, the dark-haired boy hesitantly made his way to the Dursley family. They had gathered around a small wooden table, eating their breakfast. A sharp nod directed his attention to a banana, yet a lack of seats made it obvious he was not welcome to join them. So, Harry retreated to the corner with his meagre meal, knowing it would be all his food for the day.

He tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible as he listened to his relatives talk. Uncle Vernon seemed almost happy, clearly grateful for the lack of letters at their current location. Even Aunt Petunia's face had softened, the paranoia not quite as present as before.

Giving them one last look, Harry turned and headed outside, the storm having broken overnight. He knew they would be happier without him around, and they all knew there was no way for him to leave the island. So, Harry perched himself on a rock, and gazed out at the ocean. This was his first time seeing it, never before had he left the Surrey area. Observing the vastness of the water made him feel insignificant. What was him, and his problems, compared to the rest of the world. It was here he promised to himself that one day he would see the world, and all the problems within it. The thought brought him a sense of purpose, the knowledge that one day he would not have to suffer the Dursleys.

A soft thump next to him announce the arrival of one of those Dursleys. For now, he would simply have to deal with them.

"Who would be writing to you?" Dudley asked, perplexed. Glancing at him out the corner of his eye, Harry shrugged non-committedly.

"Whoever it is, sure had freaked out Mum and Dad." Dudley continued, the lack of any real answer not fazing him. Once more, Harry shrugged in return, not willing to get in a conversation with his disliked cousin.

"I don't think they will give up trying to contact you, and we will have to return home one day." The blonde boy said with a surprising amount of wisdom. Harry eyed his cousin with consideration, but just as he opened his own mouth to answer a sharp crack split the air.

With open mouths, the two cousins stared in disbelief at the new person that had appeared next to them. She was, without a doubt, the strangest person they had ever seen. Her brown hair, streaked with grey, was pulled tightly in a bun, and her face was lined with stress. Lips sunk in a seemingly permanent frown, as green eyes peered disapprovingly at them through square-framed glasses. If the teleporting didn't inform them, then the look told them that this wasn't a person to be messed with. Yet, other than the strange method of arrival, the weirdest thing about her was her attire. Midnight blue robes flowed down her body, making her look for all the world like she had come from a fantasy novel.

The crack of her arrival must have been heard by the elder Dursleys as they came charging out the shack. At the sight of the woman, Aunt Petunia screamed in fear as they came to a quick halt.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Uncle Vernon bellowed; chest puffed out like an angry gorilla. The lady gave them a look of disinterest before turning to the boys once more, causing Dudley to give a slight squeak.

"Hello Mr. Potter, I have been looking for you." Her voice commanded attention, like one who was used to being listened too. A Scottish accent only added to the affect.

Nervously, Harry straightened his glasses, now uncomfortable with all the attention on him.

"Me?" He asked hesitantly, his emerald eyes flickering between his relatives and the strange woman. He calmed slightly when he noticed the small softening in her eyes. Carefully, she reached into her robes, and withdrew a copy of the letter that had haunted them the past week. As she passed it over to him, it seemed Uncle Vernon had recovered from the shock of being so thoroughly ignored.

"Stop!" The man shouted, "We forbid it! When we took him in we swore we'd stamp it out of him."

Once more the woman disregarded what he said, and instead turned to Harry's Aunt.

"I'm disappointed in you Petunia," The words were sharp, and had undertones of malice. His Aunt pulled a face, something between defiance and fear. Once more the lady turned to Harry, and looked pointedly at the letter in his hands.

"I'm sorry," Harry almost whispered, "but who are you?"

The lady flushed slightly, the first sign of anything other than confidence.

"Excuse my manners," She puffed up in pride, "Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry stared at her blankly. He understood the individual words, but yet he could not understand the overall meaning. The newly named McGonagall saw his confusion before throwing another glare at Aunt Petunia.

"You're a Wizard, Mr. Potter." She announced like it was the most common thing in the world.

Shaking his head in the negative, he tried to pass the letter back to her.

"You must be mistaken, I'm just Harry." The young boy denied.

"See! We stamped the freakishness out of him. Now leave!" Uncle Vernon commanded, whilst Aunt Petunia nodded over his shoulder. The slight tightening of Professor McGonagall's eyes was the only indication the she had heard him speak.

"No, Mr. Potter, you are a wizard just as your parents were before you. Surely, there have been times where the unexplainable has happened around you?"

Harry thought back to all the strange occurrences. Suddenly appearing on the school roof, bullies tripping over nothing as they chased him, items changing colour, and so much more. However, his mind latched on the first part of her sentence.

"You knew my parents?" He asked.

"Yes, which brings us to the Magical World. I did not think I would have to tell you everything. However, this is a conversation best to have alone." With that, she turned and flicked a wooden stick in her hand that had gone unnoticed until now. All three Dursleys lifted up into the air with startled screams, before zooming back into the shack, and the door slamming behind them.

Harry couldn't help but stare after them in shock. Professor McGonagall appearing out of nowhere proved magic existed but this confirmed it. This was something that he could watch from start to finish, and still not explain. Shaking himself out of those thoughts, his vision narrowed to the stick in the Professor's hand.

Seeing the look, McGonagall stashed it away in her robe.

"That was a wand, Mr. Potter." She stated matter-of-factly, "Also, I would appreciate if you didn't mention that to anyone. Strictly speaking, we are not meant to use magic on Muggles...Non-magicals." She clarified at his confused look.

"Now, Mr. Potter, I warn you that the Magical World is a dangerous place. What you must understand is that magic makes the impossible possible. This can grant people an inflated sense of self-worth. Terrible people are in this world, and magic gifts them a way to impose their will on to others."

She stared down at him seriously, as if judging his response.

"I think I understand, but what has this got to do with my parents?" Harry questioned in confusion.

"Everything," Professor McGonagall whispered, "Many years ago a group of these villains banded together in an unprecedented time of darkness. The League of Death they were called. Fearsome enemies alone, together they were unstoppable. People like The Ebony Shadow, The Faceless Man, Fenrir, The Illusionist, and more, led by one called Lord Voldemort. Then one night, October 31st 1981, they went on a rampage, killing and torturing some of the brightest minds in the world. Your parents were unfortunately two of the deaths that night."

Professor McGonagall bowed her head in memory, and sadness. Harry didn't know what to make of it. To find out his parents had died due to some villainous league rather than a car crash was mind-blowing, even more so than the revelations about magic.

"Which one killed my parents?" He asked, his frustration raising at her look of hesitance.

"We believe it was Lord Voldemort that attacked your house." She finally answered. The name rolled through Harry's mind. He had a name to the person that took everything from him, and cursed him to life at the Dursleys. Harry growled at the thought.

"What happened to him?"

"No one knows. At the end of the night he vanished, never to be heard from again. The League broke up, some were captured, others ran, and yet still some remain to this day. They continue their reign of terror."

The two descended into silence as they mulled over her words. Harry had a feeling Lord Voldemort was still out there, and that one day they would meet. Harry vowed then that he would be strong enough to bring him down.

"Now, Mr. Potter, we have waited long enough for you to read that letter."

Harry looked down at the forgotten letter in his hand. It was on something thicker, and heavier, than paper. Green words proclaimed his name on the front. Carefully, Harry turned it around and broke the crest, withdrawing the contents. Two pieces of the not-paper were inside. The one once filled with the same green writing.

_Dear Mr. Potter, _

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins on September 1__st__. We await your owl by no later than July 31__st__._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

"My owl?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Magical people use owls to deliver mail, Mr. Potter," the Professor answered. "However, since I'm here, I believe we can forgo that?" She raised one eyebrow at him.

"Yes, of course, I'd umm, love to go." Harry gushed before looking at the second page. It was a list of supplies, ranging from a wand to a pewter cauldron.

"Where can you get all this?" Harry asked, the foreign emotion of excitement building in his chest.

"Diagon Alley, a magical shopping district in London, hidden from muggles. In saying that, we should head off now to do your shopping. Hold my arm, and prepare yourself. Apparition is uncomfortable for even the experienced."

So, Harry grasped his new teachers arm. For once in his life hope bloomed inside him. Hope for a better future, hope for better life. The two vanished with another loud crack.

**A/N: As you can probably tell, this story is going to be vastly different from the canon books. Already you can see some changes, and perhaps even guess where this story is leading. Some canon events will still occur, but they will occur differently, or perhaps end with the same result but have a different journey. You shall see. **

**Hopefully you all like this first chapter. This is my first major fanfiction i'm trying to write. It will hopefully encompass several books. Any reviews or suggestions are welcome. **


	2. Chapter 2

It was nothing but a swirl of darkness for Harry as they seemed to be compressed from every direction. The darkness did not concern him, it had been an old friend, one that was with him from the very first moment he had been placed in the cupboard. However, the feeling of walls pushing in around him was new, and terrifying. Harry would not claim to be claustrophobic, but the panic this strange sensation caused was overwhelming. Was his throat closing up? Or was that just the pressure on it? Surely, he was not getting enough oxygen with the way his chest was getting forced down? The young boy could not honestly say how long they travelled for. It could have been a second, or hours, before an explosion of colours, and sounds hit him.

Stumbling from the sudden new surroundings, it was only Professor McGonagall grabbing tightly onto his shoulder that stopped him from slamming into a brick wall. Harry shakily leaned against the wall, his legs trembling beneath him as he tried to get over the disorientation. His new teacher patted him gently on the back with a sympathetic look upon her stern face. To try and distract himself, Harry looked around their new location. He was, admittedly, fairly disappointed. It wasn't quite what he had pictured when told they were going to a magical shopping distract.

They seemed to be in a shady looking courtyard. Brick buildings loomed in every direction, a couple garbage bins filled one corners, and a pile of vomit splashed across one wall. The only exit was one faded red door that Harry was sure would fall off its hinges at any stage. A distant rumble of talking sounded through the door, with a backdrop of vehicles. Clearly, they were in London somewhere. He cast an aghast look at the witch next to him, wondering if perhaps she had missed their intended destination, but too polite to say anything. All he received in return was a knowing smirk, before she guided him towards the door.

Upon opening the door, the sound of conversations rose in volume, and it was with hesitant steps Harry stepped inside, perhaps it was here that he would see the magical? Once more, he was to be thoroughly disappointed. At first glance, inside was an even more shady pub filled with smoke and suspicious looking customers. A bald bartender wiping his bar with a dirty rag cast them a curious look before turning to a waiting customer calling for his attention. It was only when Harry looked closer that he noticed all the magical details that he had missed at first.

One lady's drink kept emitting spurts of pink sparks out of its top, another customer was stirring the spoon in his drink without touching it, and a small boy was making chess pieces move through voice command. Looking around, his sense of disappointment slowly changed to joy. It was dark, dirty, dingy, but undoubtedly magical, and best of all, it was a place he knew his relatives would avoid at all costs.

Professor McGonagall directed him to a few empty stools at the bar, and moments later the bartender arrived at their spot with a crooked smile.

"Two butterbeers please Tom," Professor McGonagall ordered, "Harry just went through his first apparition."

"Didn't vomit, did ya lad?" Tom asked. Harry mutely shook his head, knowing it was close thing.

"He did not, but someone clearly has back there." The Transfiguration teacher told Tom as he passed over two bottles. The man frowned in response, before turning around.

"Oi! Tipsy!" He yelled out, before some type of grey-skinned being popped out in front of him. It was small, perhaps the height of Harry himself, with bulbous blue eyes, and large, floppy ears. Dressed in some type of brown toga.

"Yes, Master Tom?" It asked in a high-pitched tone, its eyes anxiously darting around.

"Clean up out back!" Tom commanded, jabbing a thumb at the door they had arrived through, and with a pop Tipsy was gone once more.

"That was a House Elf, Mr. Potter. Servants in the Wizarding World. Now drink up, we still have shopping to do." Professor McGonagall answered his unasked question, and at the reminder he looked down at the drink. Cautiously, he raised it to his lips and sipped at it. Instant warmth spread through his body, as a slight buttery taste rolled around in his mouth. With no further caution, he tipped back the rest of the bottle and finished it all at once. It was the best drink he had ever had, and he knew that he'd be having a lot more of it in the future. Conveniently, it had also settled his stomach that he didn't even notice was still a bit upset.

Professor McGonagall gave him an amused smile, before nodding at Tom, and standing up. Together they walked towards a green door that was next to the one they had entered from; which Harry was surprised to realize he hadn't noticed before. Just as they reached it a man bumped into Harry from the side, knocking him to the ground. Laying upon the ground in shock, Harry looked at the man standing above.

Another bald person, were wizards just generally against having hair? Harry wondered in slight shock.

"My apologies, I was distracted, and not paying attention." The man's voice was deep baritone, cultured in a way Vernon Dursley could only dream of. His blues eyes peered at Harry in slight concern, and a hand outstretched to help him up, which Harry took gratefully.

"Errr, no worries Sir." Harry muttered awkwardly, trying to distract himself by patting some dust off his clothes.

"Quirinus, I did not expect to see you here today?" Professor McGonagall enquired gently, before turning to Harry without waiting for a reply. "Harry, this is Professor Quirrell. He'd be your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Quirinus, this is Harry Potter, a first year this year."

Quirrell stared at Harry for a moment, his blue eyes roving over his face. Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable, like Quirrell was examining him for something.

"The son of Lily, and James, I presume? A pleasure, Mr. Potter." The DADA teacher finally spoke, just as the silence had started to become a bit unbearable. "I'm sure you still have shopping to do. Once more, I apologize for running into you."

With that his newest teacher was gone as soon as he had appeared. They silently watched his form hurriedly making its way over to a dark corner table, a cloaked figure waiting for him. Turning away, Professor McGonagall lead him further on their journey.

"Odd, Quirinus must be exceptionally busy, usually he is more talkative than that." She told Harry, like it was some grand secret. He was more focused on the excitement building once more, they were finally going to the shopping district. Yet, once more he was disappointed as the door only led to another rundown courtyard. Harry gazed down, despondently at his shoes, and only looked up at a rumbling sound. To his amazement, one of the brick walls was sliding to the side. Its bricks grinding against the floor as it slowly moved, but what was behind it was even more shocking.

It was everything one could dream of a magical alley. Three story buildings lined the streets with all sorts of displays, and products, out front them. Wizards, witches, and other magical beings filled the walkways dressed in a mixture of robes and modern-day clothing.

Harry didn't know which way to look first as they made their own way down the alley. Caged fire-breathing lizards, fireworks bursting out one door, broomsticks flying through a window, cauldrons filled with bubbling pink liquid, and shops changing colours.

One sign proclaimed 'Shop at Abbott's for all your herbology needs.', and yet another had large gold writing on a purple background 'Reach to the stars with a Nimbus.'

Professor McGonagall quickly grabbed his arm and dragged him to the side, confusing him for a moment. Until he realized he had nearly been trampled by a centaur of all things. It's tail swishing in agitation as it cast them an imperious look before heading onwards.

"Please make sure to pay attention where you are going, Mr. Potter." His teacher said with a slight note of exasperation. Harry could feel his face heat up in embarrassment, and nodded eagerly. Huffing in amusement, she led him forwards once more, and Harry made sure to stick close to her this time.

"Did you hear The Illusionist hit the Apothecary the other day? Weird how he only seems to come out at Summer." Harry overheard from a passing wizard, but they swept off in the crowd before he could hear anymore.

Eventually they reached the end of the street where a massive white building stood. Made from marble, and looking similar to the buildings of Ancient Greece, it seemed to impose itself over the alley.

"Gringott's Bank, ran by Goblins. Please be polite, and allow me to do all the talking." Professor McGonagall told him as they made the trek up the stairs leading to the bank. Harry nodded in agreement, his emerald eyes staring at the guards near the front door. Standing at four foot, covered in gleaming crimson armour, and with beady black eyes looking from wrinkled green faces, they were somehow the most intimidating thing Harry had ever seen. Perhaps it was because of the massive halberds they were holding, and the scowls they had at every passing wizard.

The inside was like a standard muggle bank, if the bank was ten times bigger and filled with goblins. Seeing an available counter, they made their way to it, and patiently waited for the goblin to finish inspecting a huge diamond. With a shrug, the goblin launched it over one shoulder, where it disappeared behind their large counters. He then sneered at them, which Professional McGonagall seemed to take as a greeting.

"We are here to go to Mr. Potter's Trust Vault." She spoke crisply, handing over a large brass key. The goblin inspected it for a moment before sharply nodding in return.

"He would also like an account statement sent to him quarterly from now on." The goblin sneered in response but jotted something down on the parchment in front of him, and then raised one eyebrow at them. Professor McGonagall procured an envelope, and passed it over.

"A withdrawal for Hogwarts as well, the letter explains the particulars." She said, her voice lowering slightly.

The goblin read the letter, his face becoming curiously blank. Tapping slightly on the bench top, he stared at them in consideration.

"Griphook!" He boomed suddenly, causing Harry to jump at the unexpected sound. Another goblin hurried over, his face looking slightly less lined. Perhaps he was younger? Harry wondered.

"Take these two to Mr. Potters vault." The first goblin commanded before turning back to them. "I will floo the account holder, and check this letter is legitimate. I'm sure you understand that with such a large withdrawal we must make sure everything is correct. If so, I will send a message to Griphook. If not…" The Goblin trailed off, grinning evilly.

Trying to keep a fearful shudder down, Harry looked at his teacher for a clue to what they were talking about, but she just gave a quick nod in return like she had expected the goblins reaction. Griphook didn't say a word to them as he led them through a side door and into what looked like a cave. Train track rails ran through it and out into the darkness beyond. Professor McGonagall let out a despondent sigh as they hopped inside a gleaming silver cart. It had the look of a roller coaster about it, something that Harry had unfortunately never been on.

With a lurch they were off, the cart rolling along at a slow pace. Harry idly wondered how long it would take to get to his vault. As if that thought caused it, the cart suddenly pitched downwards at a ninety-degree angle. Feeling like he had left his stomach somewhere above, Harry held on for dear life. The cart swerving, and turning, sometimes going up, but mostly down. After getting used to it, Harry could not stop smiling. The wind in his hair, the adrenaline rush, the chaotic nature of it all. It was simply the best, most exciting experience he had ever had.

Glancing at the professor, her pale face seemed to express her disagreement. It was with slight disappointment that they reached Harry's vault, which the goblin opened with one long finger. A golden shine spilled out through the open door, and they stepped inside. Harry looked in amazement as the massive room seemed to be filled with golden coins, some silver, and very few bronze.

"This is mine?" He asked in disbelief, even without knowing the currency, he could tell it was a lot.

"Yes, your parents were reasonably wealthy, and even now your family business brings in more." She answered. "The gold ones are galleons, the silver are sickles, and the bronze are knuts. 29 knuts to a sickle, 17 sickles to a galleon." She then pulled out a small bag and filled it with money.

"That will be enough for all your school shopping, plus extra spending money."

Harry nodded in thanks, before stuffing the bag in his pocket. He kept his hand in his pocket as well. This was his, never before had he purely owned something, let alone money. He would not allow himself to lose it.

As they returned back to the cart, a green beeping light started flashing on the front. Griphook looked down, fiddled with a few buttons, and seemed to read some thing for a second.

"It seems we will make a second withdrawal." He stated.

This time the trip seemed to take even longer, the twists and turns increasingly more violent. Even Harry was starting to admit that it wasn't as fun as he first thought. Eventually they reached another vault. Curiosity welled in Harry's stomach. What could Professor McGonagall be withdrawing for Hogwarts?

The door opened, and Harry stared in confusion. How could the small hand-held package in the middle of the vault possibly be considered a large withdrawal? Perhaps it was a magical artefact of unknown power? His teacher gave him a stern look before hiding the package within her robes.

The ride back to the lobby of the bank seemed shorter to Harry, though he was more focused on the item Professor McGonagall had withdrew. It seemed to have more security on it, and more importance than his entire vault of gold. So just what was in it that warranted such measures?

His thoughts were only broken when they walked back out to Diagon Alley.

"Mr. Potter, why don't you head to Madam Malkins for your robes, and I'll go to the apothecary for your potion supplies?" His teacher asked, gesturing towards a brightly coloured clothes store nearby. Perhaps she wished them to separate so they could finish all the shopping today. Slightly hesitant, Harry nodded, and at her request handed over several galleons for his potion supplies before heading into the robe shop.

"First year?" A middle-aged lady asked brusquely, manoeuvring him over to a stand without waiting for an answer. In a whirl, tape measurers were flying everywhere. He honestly couldn't tell how measuring the distance between his right shoulder and his left knee would help, but surely they knew what they were doing?

"Hello, are you going to Hogwarts too?" A squeaky voice popped up next to him, belonging to a boy that he had not seen in the rush for robes. With a round face, expressive blue eyes, and his brown hair in a terrible bowl cut, Harry could easily tell this kid would be the target of bullies like Dudley.

"Yeah. First year." Harry muttered; a bit uncomfortable with the attention the seamstress was paying him.

"Me too!" The boy's face lit up with excitement at the response, "Do you know what house you want to be in? My Gran thinks I'd be a Hufflepuff."

Harry noticed the slight downturn in the boy's lips when he mentioned his Gran's opinion. He had no clue what these houses were, but perhaps he should avoid Hufflepuff.

"I don't know about the houses. I only found out about all this today." Harry informed him, gesturing around the shop with a hand wave. Which unfortunately earned him a prick from a needle, and a filthy look from the shop attendant.

"Oh, you're a Muggle-born." Was his reply, "Well everyone at Hogwarts gets sorted into four houses. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Gryffindor is for the brave, my parents were in that house."

The house for the brave, Harry liked the sound of that. He thought of all those times that Uncle Vernon, and Aunt Petunia had punished him for things he hadn't done, or when Dudley and his friends would bully him. If only he was braver, he could have stood up for himself. If he could somehow convince them to put him in Gryffindor then maybe the others in the house could teach him to be braver.

It was only then that Harry realized the other boy was staring at him expectantly, waiting for a response.

"Er… Sounds like Gryffindor would be good?" Harry half-questioned. The boy nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, I so want to be in it, but Gran doesn't think I'm like my dad at all. They didn't even think I was going to be accepted in Hogwarts because I had such small magic."

Awkwardly Harry looked around as the boy's blue eyes teared up, he did not want to be part of this conversation. Thankfully, the seamstress saved him from having the conversations by informing him that his robes were finished. Giving her a grateful look, he half waved at his future classmate, and made a quick tactical retreat. Professor McGonagall was waiting outside for him, and by the looks of it had grabbed several more things as well.

"I have also gotten your writing supplies, and trunk. The main items left to get are your books, your wand, and a familiar." She told him, glancing up at the lowering sun.

The book shop was amazing, three stories filled with books on all sorts of topics. Harry was most interested in the curse books, but Professor McGonagall steered him away from them.

"The Hogwarts Library will have more than enough to keep you busy your first year if you feel like some extra-curricular reading." Were her stern words as she piled his first-year books into his arms. At his despondent look, she slipped on a piece of parchment as well.

"Here. An owl order form if you want to order something latter in the year."

It was as they were at the checkout that it happened. A green smoke slowly filled the room, crawling between their legs and clinging to all surfaces. A startled shriek echoed from one corner, and grunts of pain from another. Harry could feel the temperature dropping, yet his skin began sweating.

"What's happening?" He whispered to his teacher, hiding behind her comforting wand-drawn form. She frowned down at his shaking form, but didn't answer. She was too busy searching the store for the cause of the smoke. It felt sticky as it rose over them, obscuring their sight. Harry felt himself become separated from the Professor, and every direction he looked was nothing but smoke. It was all encompassing, and more screams rang out from every direction.

"Professor!" He called, "Professor, where are you?"

He knew he was becoming hysterical, but he just couldn't help it. A tall dark figure appeared in the smoke screen, striding closer to him. Harry held out hope that it was his professor, come to find him, but that was dashed when the figure got close enough.

They were tall, cloaked in black shimmering robes with a hood pulled over their head. Harry tried desperately to peer under the hood, thinking he might be able to work out who it was, but yet their face was encompassed in shadows.

His breath halted in his chest as the figure stopped, tilting its head in his direction.

"Interesting!" The voice was smooth, and silky, whispering in his ear. Harry could not help but feel he was being observed by a dangerous predator, so far below it that he was nothing but a slight curiosity to it. Who was this man? And what was happening to the people around them. Harry could sense the man was looking through him, like he could tell every little thing about Harry from one look. He couldn't turn his eyes away; the green orbs were stuck on this man like he was hypnotised or something.

The man let lose a slight snort, and turned away with a swish of his cloak, breaking their deadlock. Almost as an afterthought, he twitched his wand back in Harry's direction before continuing on his way. To Harry's horror, the smoke in front of him started forming together into a shape. Until in front of him stood a bulldog, only five times bigger than normal. It's foaming mouth growling at him in contempt.

Remarkably, it looked almost exactly like the bulldog his terrible Aunt Marge used to bring to their house. The evil little mutt would chase him all over the house, trying desperately to chew on his leg, urged on by his malicious enemies.

The bulldog in front of him lurched forward at him, its teeth snapping shut millimetres from his face. Harry let loose a startled yelp, tumbling over backwards to avoid it. His eyes tightly shut, waiting for the moment the beast would reach him and make him its lunch. A wizard for barely a day, and already killed by a large bulldog straight from his horrific memories.

"Harry!" A voice called out to him, a hand slightly touching his shoulder causing him to jerk away.

Glancing wildly about for the monster, but yet it was gone along with the smoke and the man that created it. Bookshelves were toppled over, their contents missing, whilst fellow customers stumbled around holding their heads in pain. Finally, his eyes met the concerned ones of his professor.

"What happened?" He whispered, trying desperately to get his heart rate back under control.

Her lips thinned as she looked around the ransacked shop.

"It seems you have had your first run-in with the one we call the Illusionist."

**A/N: So you get your first glimpse at some of the main players throughout this book. A Quirrell with no turban or stutter? The mysterious Illusionist robbing the book store? What will Harry make of his first foray into the Magical World? **

**As the person who reviewed, this world will be more set out like superhero comic books. There will be heroes, and there will be villains. There won't be a clearly defined light and dark side like in canon. Which will Harry turn into? Well this story will be all about finding his own morals, and the things he believes in. With hopefully plenty of twists and turns along the way to keep you guessing. **


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